The Hound Catches the Scent

The dog had caught the scent. Chapter 3.

Hound wasn’t a creature that simply smelled things. To be precise, smelling was only the beginning. In the original novel, he hunted something far more stubborn than body odor. Blood. Sweat. Traces of supernormal factors. And fear. A dog that sank its teeth into whatever desperate fugitives left behind and refused to let go until the trail snapped. Black Dog’s specialist tracker. Hound.

I had never heard the name spoken aloud. But Kang Doyun’s body remembered. The memories of scraping by at the bottom of Black Dog made the nape of my neck go rigid the moment the name surfaced.

Once marked, it was over. You had to run until the scent dried. No—better to cut the scent before it ever took hold.

I paused briefly in front of the unmanned laundromat’s glass door. A fluorescent light flickered sickly inside. Two tumbling dryers, a folding table, and a wall-mounted CCTV camera were visible. No people. Good.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The little bell above it jingled. Even that small sound made my shoulders twitch.

The problem was my appearance. Bloodstained sleeves. Torn pants. Cracked round glasses. Curly hair matted with damp dust. I might as well have had the word fugitive taped to my back. Walking into an illegal access point looking like this would draw every eye in the room. Even at dawn.

If not Black Dog, then someone else would remember me.

I scanned the folding table. One gray hooded zip-up. A black mask. Looked like items someone had left behind after washing. My hand moved on its own.

Take them. Wear them. If you want to live, use what isn’t yours.

The echo of the cowardly thief.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

“I’m borrowing them.”

I knew how ridiculous the excuse sounded. Still, I had to say it out loud. If I simply grabbed them without a word, the line between my own thoughts and the thief’s would blur even further.

I peeled off the bloodied jumper, turned it inside out, and folded it. Then I pulled on the gray hoodie, slipped the black mask over my face, and tugged the hood low. The reflection in the mirror still looked suspicious. Tall and gaunt. Sleepy eyes behind cracked round glasses. A grad student who’d starved in a lab until dawn, or a scholar fleeing with dangerous research. Closer to the latter than to a villain.

I stuffed the bloody jumper into a plastic bag. I wasn’t discarding it. There might still be something in the pockets. The moment I made that calculation, my stomach twisted slightly.

Securing evidence. Calculating CCTV blind spots. Wearing someone else’s clothes and hiding the bloodstained ones.

I couldn’t tell whether this was the method for survival or the process of gradually fitting myself into a villain’s skin. Only one thing mattered.

I still had to stay alive.

I left the laundromat. The alley air was cold. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance. I couldn’t tell whether it belonged to the Association, the police, or an ambulance. The explosion at the Guro Abandoned Factory. Black Dog’s pursuit. The sunspot stone. Yoon Taeha. Everything was turning the midnight city upside down.

And at the center of it all, I stood.

I walked along the alley. I wanted to run, but I held back. If a hunted man runs, he looks exactly like a hunted man. The thief’s echo whispered at me to hide. Kang Doyun’s memories told me to alternate between crowded places and dark ones. For now, I chose the latter.

I had decided.

In the basement of an abandoned bathhouse, a man crouched before a torn metal plate. Black jumper. Shoulders hunched low. A black dog tattoo stretching from the nape of his neck to the underside of his jaw. He swept the floor with his fingers. Dried blood clung there. Between the smells of dust, rust, and mold, a very faint trace remained.

The man brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled slowly.

“Blood.”

The surrounding Black Dog grunts said nothing. The man touched the floor again, this time near the metal plate. A forced gap. Scratched screws. A broken fingernail fragment. The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Fear.”

One of the grunts spoke cautiously.

“Hound, sir. The bastard escaped through the plumbing. There are multiple exits leading outside, so…”

“I know.”

Hound raised his head. His eyes were a shade yellower than a normal person’s.

“That’s why the scent just got interesting.”

He stood up slowly.

“Crawled like a rat, tore things open like a thief, and ran like a terrified cat.”

Hound stared into the depths of the plumbing.

“But another smell mixed in halfway.”

“Sir?”

“Black stone.”

The grunts’ expressions hardened. Hound laughed.

“Tell Madok. Copycat is still inside Guro.”

“Location…”

“I’ll narrow it down soon.”

Hound lowered his body back toward the pipe.

“A dog doesn’t let go of a scent once it’s bitten down.”

The illegal access point disguised as an unmanned PC café was underground. The sign was ordinary: 24-Hour Internet Lounge. But Kang Doyun’s memories recognized the tiny sticker beneath it—a rat biting into cheese. The mark of a black-market access point.

I inserted cash into the kiosk at the entrance and received a numbered ticket. No ID check. The counter was empty. Only three customers inside: a man sleeping slumped over, another watching illegal sports betting sites, and a third wearing a headset and lost in a game.

I took the seat in the farthest corner. I looped the backpack strap around my ankle so I would feel it if anyone tried to snatch the bag. While the monitor booted up, I steadied my breathing. My fingertips were still trembling. Delayed pain kept crawling up from the finger whose nail had been torn off.

I plugged in the USB. An outdated security program launched automatically, and a black screen appeared. On the surface it looked like a used-parts trading board. But certain titles, certain prices, and certain phrases changed its meaning entirely.

Following Kang Doyun’s memories, I typed the post.

In the price field I entered 170,717 won. July 17. Today’s date. A code the Rat Merchant would recognize.

The moment I posted it, my hands trembled again. I scanned the room. The sleeping man. The gambler. The gamer. Nothing had changed. Yet the air felt heavier.

From the alley outside the PC café came the sound of a dog barking—then abrupt silence. Not as if it had stopped on its own. More like someone had clamped a hand around its throat. The barking cut off instantly.

I swallowed dryly. This wasn’t my imagination. Hound had been released. I knew it without seeing him. The pursuit was too fast. I had barely escaped the abandoned bathhouse, yet the atmosphere in the area had already shifted.

A comment notification appeared.

Rat Merchant. I replied immediately.

A moment later another comment appeared.

I narrowed my eyes. The Rat Merchant already knew. His information network was fast—whether that was good or bad. I answered.

This time a direct message arrived.

Below it were coordinates and a password. Inside the Guro No. 13 Redevelopment Area. An out-of-business underground karaoke bar. I memorized the coordinates, deleted the message, and pulled out the USB.

At that exact moment, the PC café door opened. The old bell jingled loudly. I reflexively lowered my head.

Two men entered. Black jumpers. Closely shaved heads. Faint black dog tattoos visible on their necks. Black Dog. They had already reached this place.

They didn’t head for the counter. Instead they walked slowly between the seats, scanning every customer’s face. They were looking for me.

I held my breath beneath the monitor’s glow. The main entrance was behind them. No windows. The emergency exit was likely beyond the staff door at the far right. But reaching it meant crossing their line of sight.

A gun? No. Firing here would bring the Association before I could escape Black Dog. I only had three bullets left anyway. If my opponents were supernormal users, even a hit might not neutralize them.

I had to run. The question was how.

I lowered my hand beneath the desk. The backpack strap was still looped around my ankle. Inside the bag was the sunspot stone’s storage case. I couldn’t leave it behind.

Should I use an ability?

I clenched my teeth. Villain Manifestation. I had only used it once, yet the echo of the cowardly thief still lingered in my mind. Black arrows. Red Xs over blocked paths. Faint light gathering on screws that needed loosening. And the emotions left behind. The certainty that running was only natural. The servile urge to steal even what belonged to others if it meant survival. The filthy whisper that it was acceptable to abandon someone else to live.

Just that was enough to turn my stomach. And now I was supposed to manifest another villain?

I couldn’t guarantee how much of myself would remain.

But if I didn’t use it, I would be caught. And being caught meant the end—whether by Madok, Hound, or the Association. No good outcome waited in anyone’s hands.

A black sentence floated in the center of my vision.

I scanned the list quickly. I had already used the Cowardly Thief’s Escape Route. Using it again would likely embed the thief’s echo even deeper. Viper’s Fang and the Smiling Killer’s Red Ribbon were combat-oriented. What I needed now wasn’t a fight. I needed to create a disturbance and slip away. To deceive eyes and redirect suspicion. To make them realize I had vanished a little too late.

There was only one answer.

Beneath the desk I clenched my fist and whispered.

“Swindler’s Joker Card.”

My fingertips turned cold. An entirely different emotion seeped into my mind. A smiling face beneath gaudy lights. A worn card table. A half-rolled sleeve. The sensation of a card vanishing between fingers. The feeling of showing opponents exactly the hand they wanted to believe in while hiding the real one in your palm.

Lies are softer than violence. The ones who are deceived wanted to be deceived. So there’s no need for guilt.

Breath caught in my throat. The swindler’s emotions were even more unpleasant than the thief’s. The thief had been full of fear. He stole and ran because he was afraid of being caught. But the swindler was different. He looked down on others. He saw the people he fooled as fools and believed himself clever for using their foolishness. That arrogant feeling clung to my insides.

At the same time, something appeared between my fingers. Paper. No—something as thin as paper but not paper. I opened my hand in the shadow beneath the desk. A single black card rested between my fingers. On its back was a smiling clown’s face. A joker with a grin so wide it looked like its mouth would tear. The edges rippled like ink, and faint black smoke rose from its surface.

One of the Black Dog grunts was walking toward me. His gaze swept across the customers one by one. The sleeping man. The gambler. The gamer. And me with my hood pulled low. A little closer and I would be exposed.

I lowered my breathing. Only my wrist moved. I flicked the black joker card with my finger. It flew silently, slicing through the monitor light, grazing the floor, and sticking to the wall beside the staff door on the opposite side of the PC café. Black ink spread across the wall like a stain.

One. Two. Three.

I knocked an empty drink can off the desk with the back of my hand. It clattered loudly against the floor. The gamer flinched and swore.

“Ah, what the hell!”

At the same time, sounds came from the staff door. Tap. Tap. Tap. Footsteps of someone running in a hurry. Both Black Dog grunts reflexively whipped their heads toward the noise.

“That way.”

“Go!”

Fake footsteps alone weren’t enough. I pushed the gamer’s chair with my toe. The chair, one wheel broken, tilted sideways and rolled backward. The man lost his balance and stood up, colliding shoulder-first with a passing Black Dog grunt.

“Hey.”

“What—what the hell?”

“Did you just bump me on purpose?”

“What are you talking about? You walked into me first!”

The man watching the betting site looked up. The sleeping man woke with a curse.

“Ugh, can you keep it down?”

“What?”

“People are trying to sleep, damn it.”

The commotion swelled in an instant. People’s attention splintered between the fallen can, the overturned chair, and the footsteps near the staff door. At that moment a black shadow flickered beside the staff door. Very briefly. The silhouette of a hooded figure. Not a real person. A fake shadow created by the joker card.

But it was enough for Black Dog.

“There!”

One of them spun toward the staff door. In that gap I dropped low. Beneath the desks. Behind the chairs. Through shadows the monitor light didn’t reach. I gripped the backpack strap, moving toward the right end.

The swindler’s echo whispered. People only see what they want to see. They chase sounds when they hear them. They believe a shadow is a person when they see one. Once they start hunting the culprit, they notice the empty seat beside them too late.

I reached the staff door. It was locked. A curse rose in my throat but I swallowed it. The joker card didn’t unlock doors. It created fake sounds and shadows, not keys.

I pressed the handle. It caught. Again. This time I crouched and examined the bottom of the door. An old latch. Signs it had been pushed inward. I took out the folding knife and wedged it into the gap. Click. The latch gave way.

This wasn’t an ability. It was thanks to Kang Doyun’s memories and a cheap lock. I had to keep that distinction clear. The moment I believed ability could solve everything, the next time I would die.

The door opened. I slipped into the staff storage room. Stacks of instant noodle boxes, old cleaning tools, and broken chairs filled the space. A metal door at the back. A padlock hung from the handle.

I paused. Picking the padlock would take time. The Black Dog grunts would soon realize the shadow was fake and come back. Then another card appeared at my fingertips. A second joker card. Much thinner and fainter than the first. Consecutive use carried a heavy burden. The cold in my fingertips had turned numb.

I gritted my teeth and flicked the card beneath a shelf in the back of the storage room. It stuck in the shadows. Moments later, a small voice came from inside the storage room.

“This way.”

It sounded similar to my voice. No—similar to Kang Doyun’s voice. From outside, a Black Dog grunt shouted.

“He’s in there!”

Bang! The staff door slammed open. I immediately dropped behind a stack of noodle boxes. One grunt entered the storage room and raised his gun toward the shelf where the fake voice had come from.

In that instant I grabbed a broken chair leg from the floor and smashed it against the padlock on the back metal door. Bang. Once. Bang! Twice. The old padlock bent halfway open.

“What the—!”

The grunt turned. I struck a third time. Bang! The padlock fell. I pushed the metal door open. Cold night air slapped my face.

“That bastard!”

I had been spotted. I sprinted straight into the alley. The fact that no gunshot rang out behind me was luck. Or perhaps not just luck. They needed to capture ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me more than kill me. Because the sunspot stone case was in my backpack.

The alley was dark and the ground wet. My ankles nearly twisted several times. My body was already near its limit. My shoulder throbbed, my wrist was swollen. The wounds from crawling through the plumbing tore open with every movement. Still, I couldn’t stop.

Two Black Dog grunts chased after me.

“Copycat!”

“Stop!”

Stopping meant death. I turned a corner. A chain-link fence blocked the way ahead. Taller than an adult male. Hard to climb normally. In chapter two the escape route would have shown me arrows. But I hadn’t activated it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this time. Using it again would drive the thief’s echo deeper. Instead I searched with my own eyes. Lower right. A rusted connecting ring. Kang Doyun’s memory said such fences usually rot from the bottom first.

I crouched, grabbed the ring, and yanked. Creak. Rusty wire snapped free and the bottom of the fence lifted enough for one person to slip through. I shoved my body into the gap. The grunt behind me couldn’t slow down in time and slammed into the fence.

“Ack!”

The chain-link rattled violently. I didn’t look back. I passed between abandoned buildings, vaulted a low wall, and pushed myself inside a construction site’s vinyl tarp. The footsteps faded for a moment. But I hadn’t completely shaken them. Black Dog hadn’t earned its name for nothing. And today the real dog had been unleashed.

I recalled the coordinates the Rat Merchant sent. Inside the Guro No. 13 Redevelopment Area. An out-of-business underground karaoke bar. Not far. Just a little farther.

Then the swindler’s voice whispered in my head. Don’t act like you’re being chased. Walk confidently. People suspect those who look afraid. Lies begin with the expression.

I clenched my teeth.

“Shut up.”

But the voice didn’t disappear. Make yourself believe you are Kang Doyun. No—make even yourself believe the lie. If you deceive your own fear, the fear lessens.

I bit my lip. The taste of blood spread. Using the pain to anchor my mind, I stepped out of the alley.

The underground karaoke sign was even more worn than expected. Golden Carriage Karaoke. Some of the tacky gold lettering had peeled away. The entrance was blocked by a steel door, and trash had piled up on the descending stairs.

I knocked on the steel door three times. Two short, one long. The code from the message. Movement came from inside. A small peephole opened and someone’s eyes examined me.

“Cat?”

A voice distorted by a modulator.

I steadied my breathing and answered.

“Being chased by a dog.”

“The black stone?”

“I have it.”

“Open the backpack.”

I didn’t answer. The eyes beyond the hole narrowed.

“If you don’t open it, you can’t come in.”

“If I open it, you’ll be the one running first.”

Silence fell for a moment. The eyes inside shook rapidly. Fear. Greed. Calculation. All three passed across them at once.

“Is it that valuable?”

“You already know it is.”

“Alone?”

I glanced at the alley behind me. The footsteps were still distant.

“For now.”

A low curse came from inside. The steel door opened.

“Get in quick. There’s too much scent stuck to you.”

I stepped inside. The moment the door closed, a Black Dog grunt’s shout echoed from the far end of the alley.

“Search this side!”

I had made it by a hair’s breadth. I leaned against the wall, gasping. Then I lifted my head. A small man stood in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Short and thin. He wore an oversized hoodie and had half his face covered by a dust mask. His eyes darted like a rat’s. The Rat Merchant. The man I had only seen in Kang Doyun’s memories now stood before me.

He looked me up and down. His gaze lingered especially on the cracked round glasses, disheveled curly hair, bloodstained hands, and the backpack.

“You really came here alive.”

“Skip the fake pleasantries.”

My voice came out rough.

“Burner phone, safe house, information. I need three things.”

The Rat Merchant chuckled.

“Copycat’s being awfully short today. The guy who couldn’t even lift his head in front of Black Dog’s underlings until yesterday.”

I moved my hand closer to the pistol behind my waist. The Rat Merchant’s laughter faded slightly.

“Just kidding.”

“Not funny.”

“Your personality’s changed too. Did getting beaten crack your skull?”

“Something like that.”

My head really did hurt as if it had been split open. The Rat Merchant studied me a little longer. Suspicion. Interest. Fear. All three were visible at once. Perhaps because I had just manifested the Swindler’s Joker Card, his minute reactions were painfully easy to read. The card had vanished, so I could no longer create fake sounds or shadows. But the echo remained. The way the swindler dissected people. Speech patterns, glances, silences, trembling fingers. The mindset that interpreted everything as bait or weakness still clung to me.

I deliberately took one step closer. The Rat Merchant reflexively took half a step back. Good. At least I held the initiative in this conversation.

“Let’s make a deal,” I said. “I have money.”

“Money alone won’t cut it.”

The Rat Merchant’s gaze drifted to the backpack.

“Because of the thing you ran off with, the entire Guro district is flipped upside down. You think only Black Dog is looking? The Association’s moving too, and that rookie hero who was at the abandoned factory noticed something strange.”

“What does that guy even know?”

“He probably doesn’t know exactly. He won’t know the item’s name or who you are. But that makes him more annoying.”

The Rat Merchant shrugged.

“People who don’t know tend to get hung up on things that feel off. Especially heroes. If Black Dog let slip words like ‘courier,’ ‘Copycat,’ or ‘the item’ at the scene, that guy will latch onto them.”

He was right. Yoon Taeha didn’t know the sunspot stone’s true nature. He didn’t know what it meant to him. But he would still move.

“The guy who was at the abandoned factory—what’s his name?” I asked, pretending ignorance.

The Rat Merchant answered immediately.

“Yoon Taeha. Registered with the Association but almost no achievements. No sponsor, mediocre gear. Still, they say he held his own pretty well at the scene today.”

“His supernormal?”

“Records say defense type.”

The Rat Merchant drew a thin barrier in the air with his finger.

“He can put up a thin shield around his body. Not enough to block bullets head-on, but it can reduce shrapnel or impact once. Heroic, but that’s about it.”

I said nothing. Defense type. That was how it had been recorded. In the early parts of the original novel, Yoon Taeha had been like that. An ability suited for protecting people. But insufficient for flipping the board. That insufficient supernormal would change upon contact with the sunspot stone. The supernormal factors would be reinterpreted and the hidden essence would awaken. Just as Kang Doyun’s imitation had twisted into Villain Manifestation, Yoon Taeha’s defense should have gained a different name tonight.

But right now the sunspot stone was in my backpack.

The Rat Merchant continued.

“The strange part is that even while being loaded into the ambulance he was completely lucid. He said the traded item wasn’t at the scene and that Black Dog was looking for a missing courier.”

I touched the back of my neck. The black mask tattoo shaped like a cat. Copycat’s mark.

“Did my name come up?”

“Not for sure. But Black Dog already knows.”

The Rat Merchant jerked his chin toward my neck.

“A tall, skinny courier with glasses and a black mask tattoo. How many of those can there be?”

Damn. My appearance was too distinctive. Sleepy eyes, curly hair, round glasses, tall and gaunt frame. Once seen, not easily forgotten.

The Rat Merchant raised three fingers.

“One burner phone. A safe house for forty-eight hours. Basic information on the sunspot stone. Three items bundled for three thousand.”

“Expensive.”

“Cheap for the price of your life.”

“Conditions?”

“You really are sharp today.”

The Rat Merchant laughed quietly.

“First. If you go get the sunspot stone appraised, I get to hear part of the results.”

“Not all of it.”

“Then part of it.”

I thought for a moment. Completely excluding the Rat Merchant was impossible. He was the only one who could connect me to an appraiser right now. But I couldn’t let him know how the sunspot stone reacted with my Villain Manifestation. That was my lifeline.

“Stability, tracking potential, storage method,” I said. “Those three are fine. You can’t hear anything about ability reaction without my permission.”

The Rat Merchant narrowed his eyes.

“Ability reaction, huh? So there’s something there?”

I revealed the grip of the pistol slightly.

“Tell me the second condition.”

The Rat Merchant clicked his tongue.

“Second. Don’t mention my name anywhere. Whether Black Dog catches you, the Association catches you, or that rookie hero catches you. There must be no talk of having dealt with me.”

“Obviously.”

“Third.”

The Rat Merchant’s voice dropped.

“If you’re thinking of opening that stone, tell me in advance.”

“Why?”

“So I can run.”

An honest answer. I stared at the Rat Merchant. He was genuinely afraid. He knew the sunspot stone wasn’t just an expensive black-market item. At the very least, it wasn’t something a Black Dog subcontractor should be carrying.

“Fine.”

I took a thick bundle of cash from the bag. The smell of bloodstained money mixed into the damp basement air. Dried blood still clung to the edges of the bills. The Rat Merchant’s eyes narrowed for a split second. He hadn’t been looking at the money. He had been looking at my hand. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The speed with which I took out the cash. The lack of hesitation. The tremor. He was reading all of it.

The Rat Merchant wasn’t a fighter. He was a man who dissected people. Not pockets, but reactions. Not wallets, but the ends of sentences. Where someone looked when they lied. How they swallowed when asked a dangerous question. Whether they feared losing money or losing their life more. A human who fed on such things.

I tossed the bundle of cash at his feet. Thud. The Rat Merchant didn’t pick it up immediately. He looked at my face first, then slowly bent to retrieve the money.

“Three thousand.”

He counted the bills quickly.

“Correct.”

“The goods.”

“You really are in a damn hurry.”

“Like you said, too much scent is stuck to my back.”

The Rat Merchant laughed lowly behind his mask. This laugh held more calculation than mockery. He took a flip phone and a thin smartphone from a safe.

“The flip phone is for calls. The smartphone is for checking. Discard both after forty-eight hours. I blocked tracking as much as possible, but if the Association gets serious they won’t last long.”

“Contact numbers?”

“My number, an emergency courier’s number, and the appraiser’s number.”

“Who’s the appraiser?”

“Doctor Seon.”

I closed my mouth for a moment. Doctor Seon. Not an unfamiliar name. An illegal researcher who appeared in the middle of the original novel. A mad scientist obsessed with solar supernormal substances and awakening experiments, eventually chased out by the Association. He had skill. The problem was he had no conscience.

“Doctor Seon,” I muttered. The Rat Merchant narrowed his eyes.

“You know him?”

“Only the name.”

“Knowing the name is enough. You won’t want to know more once you meet him in person.”

The Rat Merchant slid the two phones toward me.

“And one more thing. That stone is called sunspot stone in the black market. The Association probably calls it a solar supernormal crystal. It interferes with supernormal factors.”

“Amplification?”

“Amplifies, corrupts, and sometimes awakens what’s hidden. If you’re lucky.”

The Rat Merchant tapped his own head.

“If you’re unlucky, you go insane.”

He drew a line across his throat.

“Or die.”

Finally he twisted his finger.

“Or become a monster.”

I reacted to that last word.

“Monster?”

“Details cost extra.”

“Tell me now.”

“Don’t pull the gun. I’ll talk.”

The Rat Merchant clicked his tongue softly.

“Rampage cases among supernormal users have been increasing lately. It’s not just losing control of power. The body changes. The Association covers it up as drug side effects, but those below see it differently.”

“Supernormal factor corruption.”

When I muttered the words, the Rat Merchant’s eyes narrowed.

“Looks like you’ve picked up some information yourself.”

I didn’t answer. I hadn’t picked it up. I had read it in the original novel. But I couldn’t explain that now. The Rat Merchant studied my reaction.

“Copycat, you really are strange.”

“I heard that already.”

“Hear it again. You know the sunspot stone’s name, you don’t bat an eye at the term solar crystal, and your face doesn’t look like this is the first time you’ve heard about supernormal factor corruption. Where the hell did you get all that?”

“You hear a lot if you live long enough.”

“You?”

“Me.”

The Rat Merchant laughed as if he found it absurd. But he didn’t press further. A good informant knew when to ask and when to stop.

At that moment, faint footsteps sounded from above. The Rat Merchant’s smile vanished instantly. He put a finger to his lips. Quiet. I held my breath too. Outside the steel door. Someone passing in the distance. One. Two. Three. It could be a Black Dog grunt or just a homeless person wandering the redevelopment zone. But the Rat Merchant’s face had gone rigid. He pushed against one wall. The section that looked like a wall slid aside, revealing a narrow passage. A damp smell wafted out.

“It connects to the underground drain. The smell is nasty, but it’s good for shaking trackers.”

I looked into the passage and said, “It won’t be enough for Hound.”

The Rat Merchant’s movement stopped. He turned to look at me.

“How do you know that name?”

I had slipped up. Hound. Black Dog’s tracking specialist villain. A creature capable of following human scent and traces of supernormal factors. In the original novel he had relentlessly pursued Yoon Taeha, only to be defeated in turn after Yoon Taeha made contact with the sunspot stone. But Yoon Taeha hadn’t obtained the stone this time. So who would Hound chase? Me, of course.

I answered calmly.

“It would be strange not to know Hound’s name after working under Black Dog.”

“Subcontractors usually tremble so hard at the name they can’t even say it.”

“I fell a lot today, so I got used to it.”

The Rat Merchant looked unconvinced but asked no more.

“Get in.”

We entered the narrow passage. The walls were damp, the floor covered in slime. It was so low we had to stoop. The Rat Merchant knew the way well. His small body moved quickly. I followed, clutching the backpack to my chest.

As we walked, the manifestation of the swindler gradually faded. The cold at my fingertips that had allowed me to create joker cards disappeared. But the echo remained. When I looked at people, the points where they could be deceived rose first. The Rat Merchant’s gait. His speech. His gaze. The movement of his fingers. All of it read like information. This man loves money but fears death more. Because he is cowardly, pressure him with fear and he will retreat. But if profit appears, he will approach again. Do not trust him. Use him. Deceive him.

I shook my head. Those weren’t my thoughts. Yet they were far too plausible. That made them even more frightening.

After walking for a long time, the Rat Merchant suddenly stopped. I stopped too. From the far end of the passage came a very faint sound. Footsteps mixed between the dripping of water droplets. One. No—two. The Rat Merchant’s face hardened. He mouthed the word.

Dog.

The moment I saw his lips, my body reacted first. My spine ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠froze. Kang Doyun’s memories screamed. It was the dog. Black Dog’s dog. Once it caught a scent, it chased until the blood dried. Hound.

I slowly tightened my grip on the backpack strap. I still couldn’t see his face. Yet my breath was already blocked as if my throat had been bitten. From beyond the darkness came a low, cracked voice.

“The smells overlapped.”

A voice pressed down like an animal’s. One step.

“Rat smell.”

Another step.

“Cat smell.”

The Rat Merchant’s face turned deathly pale. And then the last words arrived.

“Black stone smell.”

I stopped breathing. I had thought I had escaped. But I was wrong. Black Dog’s dog had already sunk its teeth into my scent.